


Trying to catch the deluge in a paper cup

by Tabata



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabata/pseuds/Tabata
Summary: Once upon a time, when the world was being built, Management thought there shouldn't be only one weather. So they gave the four jobs to four people. Mistral ruled the winds. Mr. Snowflake was in charge of the snow. Storm was the man of the rain. And, finally, Merry Weather was responsible for the Sun. Everything worked perfectly fine for a very long time, until Storm went crazy and started to flood the world. This is the story of how Merry Weather discovers what is going on with him.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	Trying to catch the deluge in a paper cup

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, my boy Leo told this story to his children because they were bored (you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529628)). This is the first time I properly write down one of Leo's stories (as in _the stories he writes for work_ ) and I'm quite pleased with it. It was supposed to be a fairy tale on environmental awareness and it definitely isn't, but *shrugs* I don't really care.
> 
> Written for: Lande di Fandom's COW-T  
> Prompt: Rain, Good Weather, Snow

“It's raining again,” Merry Weather sighs. She's sitting on a big comfy armchair that she's dragged, with a little effort, next to the window ledge and she's watching the world outside, which has been painted in gray for over a week now. The air is electrically charged with the harbinger of a storm and no matter how hard she tries, she can't break those big scary clouds on the horizon apart with her strongest sun. It's depressing at the very least, and extremely worrying too.

“You know he has his moments,” Mr. Snowflake says, smiling affectionately at her from under his big white mustache. Merry Weather shivers a little at the slightly drop in temperature that he inevitably brings with him. She's not built to stand the cold, but she loves to come visit him in his chalet, especially when she's in such desperate need of his wise advice like she is now. And of course she loves the hot chocolate – she's obsessed with it, actually – that Mr. Snowflake promptly offers to her every time she comes around.

“Thank you,” she says, grabbing the mug with both her hands and enjoying the warmth that seeps through it into her skin. The mug has a little sun on it and the words _You're my Sunshine_. She gave it to him as a present for his birthday a long long time ago and she finds it so sweet that he's still using it. “Storm has always been a little moody sometimes, especially around March, but never like this. It doesn't rain for weeks and when it finally does, it doesn't stop for days. There have been more thunderstorms and floods than I can count. And he's borrowing from you and Mistral, is he not?”

Mr. Snowflake nods, no point in denying something that everybody knows already. He sits on the armchair next to her with a tiny huff. He's rounded and soft, with a big white mustache. He has always looked to Merry Weather like the very embodiment of Winter itself, which he is of course. Merry Weather always wonders if it works like that for her too. Does she look like Sun and Summer? She doesn't feel like that at all right now. “A handful of snow from the mountaintops, a gust of wind here and there,” he admits, sipping from his own cup of coffee. “But nothing that wasn't there already, though. He's just getting a little creative. It's in his nature, isn't it?”

Merry Weather admires Mr. Snowflake's calm and his attempt at finding something positive in what's happening lately. In fact, she feels very guilty because she's not doing that herself. She has always praised herself to be a person who can see the bright side of anything. Bright sides are part of her daily job, after all. But this time is harder. Storm changed or he's going through something but he refuses to confide in her, either way this feels like a betrayal. And she knows it's petty, but she is a little angry at him.

“He's doing something he's not supposed to do,” she says. As if Storm could hear her, it starts raining harder. A particularly loud thunder makes her jump on her seat. There's a wall of water outside the window now. She can barely see the garden. “There are rules and he's breaking them all.”

“You are so worried, child.”

“Are you not? Someone could get hurt or something could break beyond repair.” Merry Weather gasps, suddenly realizing something. She turns on the armchair, folding her socked feet under herself. “Management could decide to intervene,” she adds, lowering her voice.

Mr. Snowflake considers this for a moment. “They have never intervened before. Sometimes it's like they're not even there anymore. I don't really think you need to worry about that,” he eventually says. “What about you? Did you try to intervene? To throw in a little sun, perhaps?”

“Believe me, I tried,” Merry Weather says with a big sigh, her hands crossed on her lap. “If my sun shines, he sends clouds to cover it. If I start drying what he drenched, he makes it rain harder. I used to wake up in the morning determined to try everything in my power to slow him down a little, but at some point I realized that if I kept going like that, he was going to do much worse a lot faster than he was already doing.”

Surprisingly, Mr. Snowflake chuckles. “Maybe, he's only trying to get your attention.”

Merry Weather looks away, feeling her cheeks get warmer and warmer. “Don't be silly!” She squeaks, hiding behind her mug of hot chocolate. “It's certainly not that.” Besides, Storm already has all her attention. If only he could go back to be the man he was before, he would see that.

“Talk to him, then,” Mr. Snowflake advises next. “Go to visit him at that modern monstrosity he insists on calling his home and tell him how worried you are. He might explain to you what is going on with him. I'm sure that if there's someone who can elicit that information from him that is you.”

“Do you really think so, Mr. Snowflake?”

“No, dear, I do not think so,” the older man says, retrieving the empty mug from her hands and slowly making his way towards the kitchen. “I'm pretty sure of it.”

*

Merry Weather doesn't like the rain. As a matter of fact, if she must be really really honest, she detests it. She obviously understands the essential part it plays in the circle of life, but that doesn't mean she has to love it. In fact, she firmly believes that, unless you are grass, you have no real reason to like a lot of water coming down the sky to wet you. Rain is unpractical and uncomfortable, not to mention the fact that it always brings cold with it, which is the worst thing of all in her book.

Besides, she only owns one single umbrella and that's a parasol, which is proving itself very ineffective under the downpour Storm has orchestrated today. Her long blond hair is all wet and sticking to her face and her pretty yellow dress is drenched. She's underdressed, obviously she is, because she's not supposed to be walking around in this weather. All her clothes are like the dress she's wearing now, she didn't have much to work with. It's the limit of having a very defining wardrobe.

Storm lives in a big city – several big cities, actually, if she has to count all the houses he has. In the beginning, at the time when Management gave them their assignments, he was the only one living among the people. He loved to be surrounded by human beings and, in some period of history, even adored. Then, little villages became towns, then cities, then metropolis and he would adapt to them, his own house growing with them, until it became what it is now. A tall skyscraper. A modern monstrosity, as Mr. Snowflake called it, of glass and steel.

Storm lives in the only flat at the very top, dominating the entire city. He used to say he liked to see the pretty lights shining in the rain. He would look at the wet streets and see magic in the way the whole city reflected in them. This was only months ago, so Merry Weather really can't believe he's willing to drown everything and everybody now. You can see no shining light in the middle of an a hurricane.

There's a little awning over the door and Merry Weather takes cover underneath it. She shakes her parasol a couple of times but to no avail. It remains completely soaked. Her general appearance too is, to be kind, unacceptable and it requires a little intervention. She closes her eyes and concentrates on her inner warmth, the core of her being where her power lies. She taps into that and water just evaporates from her clothes and hair in a cloud of steam, leaving her at least presentable. She's checking herself in the glass door when the intercom crackles. 

“If you pose any longer in front of the camera, I'll ask you to take off your clothes,” Storm's voice comes out of nowhere and makes her jump.

“Don't be nasty!” She frowns at the air, not really knowing where to look. She hears him laugh as the door gets unlocked.

She rides the elevator to the top floor, mentally going over a speech she's been preparing for days. She didn't want to come here without knowing what she was going to say. Unlike her, Storm has always been good with words – not always in the best of ways, perhaps – so she knew she couldn't just show up at his place and hope to be convincing. She had to have a plan. Merry Weather is not really sure she has one, but at least she has something. Whatever happened to him, whatever he's going through, Storm is a good master of the rain. He understands it on a deeper level, the same way she can tune the sun the way it's needed. He was created for that, he likes that he can do that, and she will appeal to that notion to bring him back from whatever dark place he went to.

The elevator stops softly with a tiny ding and the doors open directly on Storm's living room. The whole flat is huge, but the living room in particular makes Merry Weather's house seems very tiny in comparison as she could fit two of them in here. It seems a space too big for one single person and yet he seems to fill it effortlessly just being in it. He always owns whatever places you give him, big or small, like water does.

“Don't stand there on the door like a schoolgirl. It's impolite and you're not letting the elevator doors close, which is irritating.”

She instantly takes a few steps forward and then she jumps again when the elevator doors ring a second time. “I was just waiting for you to let me in,” she informs him.

“I let you up, didn't I? Besides, the elevator literally brought you inside, there was no point in being redundant.” Storm sighs, shaking his head. “You've always been so awkward, Merry. You haven't changed a bit. Come closer.”

She would like to stay put and state, gently but firmly, that she wants to remain exactly where she is, thank you. And yet, she finds herself walking over to him. She doesn't know what it is, but there's something in his voice that makes her want to please him – and it's always been there, the only part of him that remained unchanged, so it's really easy to hold on to it. It's also why she knows this is not going to be an easy conversation.

Storm is sitting on the couch facing the huge window that takes up an entire wall. The whole city opens up in front of him, plunged in what's left of daylight. She should have come earlier, Merry Weather suddenly thinks with a shiver she can't really explain. Twilight gives the room the wrong kind of intimacy, one that he feels at ease with and she doesn't.

“You put the sun to bed a little early today,” Storm comments, still looking at the city and, more importantly, away from her. He hasn't properly acknowledged her presence yet, if not to scold her.

“It's winter,” She can't avoid the tip of annoyance in her voice, but she regrets it right away. She doesn't want to be aggressive only because he is being difficult. That's not who she is. She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs before she resumes walking towards the couch. “It was time for him to go to bed.”

Storm chuckles and finally stands up and turns, extending his hand to her. “You never break the rules, don't you?”

Merry Weather takes the hand he's offering and she doesn't back off when he kisses the back of it before inviting her to sit down. “Rules are there for a reason.”

“Rules are boring, Parakeet.”

“Don't call me that,” she blushes, clutching the thin fabric of her dress. It's an old name, this one. A name for her that she thought he had forgotten.

Storm doesn't give any sign that he heard her or that he noticed how embarrassed she is. He points with a flourish to an elegant minibar. “Want something to drink?”

“I don't—“

“Humor me,” he snaps, his voice dreary and annoyed.

For just a fraction of a moment Merry Weather can see something dreadful in his eyes, the shadow of a person that is not him at all. She decides that it's better to go along with it. “Alright, just a little, though.”

“Don't be silly, you're not a kid anymore,” Storms dismisses her and fill the glass before handing it to her. “Please, live a little, it's frustrating just to look at you.”

“Then don't. Just sit down and talk to me.”

Storm was sipping his drink. He smirks from behind the brim of the glass. “Assertive, that's more like it.” He laughs like he used to and it hurts a little to hear the echo of another twisted voice behind his own. He sits down right next to her, an arm on the back of the couch behind her. “So, to what do I owe your visit?”

He knows very well to what he owes her visit. He made it so that she had to come personally to him if she wanted to understand what was going on. She is perfectly aware that this is not her idea but his. “Where have you been?”

Storm shrugs. “Here and there. Mostly nights I can't remember in places I can't pronounce the name of. It's been a hell of a few months if you ask me. Entertaining and fulfilling, though. You should try.”

Merry sighs. She had a whole speech ready, didn't she? But it's stuck in her throat and she's sure it wouldn't work even if she could let it out, so she says the only thing that matters. “You're losing control, Storm.”

“Not at all. I'm actually more in control than I've ever been, Parakeet”.

“No,” she insists. And then she sees that he's watching her holding her glass in her hands without drinking, so she takes a little sip in the hope he will take his eyes off her. It doesn't happen. “You're causing damage. You're ruining things. If you keep doing this, there will be no turning back.”

He seems annoyed at this. For a moment she sees the teenage boy he was once upon a time in the way he rolls his eyes at her. “I just have to get the hand of it.”

“Stor—“

“Merry, listen to me.” He grabs both her hands, making her turn towards him. “I discovered something lately. Our powers are not exclusive to us. Like all things in nature, we are inherently connected. Our cores call to each other the same way our hearts do. And if we respond to that call...” His hands are traveling along her arms and down her hips. She can feel them moving on her body but she can't look away from him to actually see what they're doing. “If we respond to that call, our powers grow and expand. We can enhance each other, Parakeet. Together we could do great things.”

She shakes her head slowly, already losing herself in the beautiful, golden lakes of his eyes. “Or we could destroy everything.”

“Only if we want to,” he whispers, leaning forward. “Think how wonderful our summer rains could be, think of the torrents I could make for you, at the warmth you could give me even in the last day of autumn.”

When he kisses her, Merry can smell the summer rain all around them. She can see the drops of water lingering on their tanned skin as they sit on the grass. It's one of those days in July when he would come visit and bring a little drizzle with him to tone down the warmth. The sun would reflect on the mirrors of water scattered around after that, bringing the world alive with light.

“Join me,” Storm whispers on her lips. And she would – whatever joining him means – but he taps into her power and suddenly everything is pain. It seems like he closed his hand around her core, the very essence of what she's made of, and he's squeezing and squeezing so hard that her power is dripping out. It's not like when she herself draws on to it, a gentle knock to an invisible door, a polite request, a plead for it to come forward so she can use it. He is crashing the shell that contains it, wringing it out like a sponge. And still, the more he squeezes, the less he can take it out. Her power just trickles down in tiny little drops that make the pain stronger and him furious.

“Storm, stop,” she whines, her fingers closing around the fabric of his shirt as she tries to push him away and doesn't manage to make him him an inch. “You're hurting me.”

“You can have some of my power in return,” Storm goes on, ignoring her complaints. His voice sounds all too sweet, it is nauseous. “Together we could do great things!”

“I don't want your power.” She fights back as hard as she knows how. She kicks and she punches, she claws at his eyes, trying to get Storm off her, but he's stronger and she only manages to make him angrier.

“Let go of it, Merry!” Storm hisses angrily, his mask finally gone. His hold on her core tightens even more. She can feel the power dislodge a few inches. “I will take it either way, I'm just going to hurt you more like this!”

“No!” She screams through the pain, pulling back the power to herself. She can't let him have it, that's the only thing she can think of, the only thought that pushes her forward, that gives her the strength to kick him hard right in the chest and set herself free. Storm falls on the floor with a scream of frustration. The moment Storm stops touching her, the pain disappears and she can breathe again.

“What is wrong with you?!” She cries out, looking down at him in shock, but the man in front of her doesn't even look like Storm anymore. His features are twisted by rage and there's a touch of neon green bleeding into the gold of his eyes. She takes a step back. “What... what happened to you?”

Storm raises slowly, staring at her with those alien eyes. “I grew more powerful, Parakeet,” he snarls and, as he moves his hands she can see wind forming between his fingers.

“That is not possible,” she murmurs, taking another step back. Only Mistral can create and control the wind, that's her power.

“It is, if people share.”

Merry shakes her head. She knows Mistral would never give up her power willingly, the same way Merry would never do that. “Where is she? What have you done with her?!”

“Don't worry, she's fine. But I have to keep her in a safe place or she will do something that will force me to hurt her, you see? And I don't want that.”

“You're sick,” Merry walks around the couch, trying to get away from him.

“That is what I thought too, at first,” Storm nods, thoughtfully. “In fact, it started out as a sickness. I was shivering and coughing. I even had a temperature. I felt awfully, really. But then it was over, and what was left was this _clarity_ , the knowledge that I could have more, do more, be more! And you know what it was that gave me that, Parakeet?”

Merry doesn't want to take her eyes off him, this time because she's scared. She can feel the electricity in the air, the storm he is about to become. “I don't want to listen anymore,” she says, stepping backward towards the elevator. “Just tell me where Mistral is.”

“Oh, but you have to listen, Parakeet. It's important. It's the pollution!” He says it like it's a good thing. He looks so pleased and happy with it. “Water gets polluted, then it evaporates, that's you of course, and then it gets back to me. That's how I got it. But it is no sickness. It is a new level of knowledge.”

“I-I need to go,” Merry backs off some more and she presses the button of the elevator frantically. She needs to get help.

“Don't do that, Merry.” Storm sounds disappointed. “Don't step into that elevator or I'll _have_ to knock you out. It's not like you will leave this place with your power anyway.”

The moment the doors of the elevators open, Merry throws herself inside and slams her open hand on the control panel trying to close the doors as fast as she can.

“Oh, come on!” Storm screams hysterically after her.

She can feel the gust of strong wind that crashes against the closing doors. They shake worryingly and, for a moment, Merry fears they're not going to close in time, or not at all. But they do and the last thing she sees is Storm's furious face. The elevator seems to take an incredible amount of time to reach the ground floor and she wonders if Storm will let her go.

She's ready to defend herself – she's not really a fighter, but she can raise the temperature quite a bit – but the doors open on an empty hall. Outside, it's already the end of the world. Storm has unleashed on the city what he couldn't unleash on her. Thunders are deafening and lightnings strike the flooded street every few seconds. People are fleeing. And over all, the roar of a strong wind Storm wasn't supposed to master.

It is chaos, but she throws herself into it, leaving her parasol behind.

*

It takes her several hours to get back to Mr. Snowflake's chalet and she finds it buried in snow, an ominous blizzard wrapping it and nothing else. The rest of the valley is quiet and serene, mockingly so. “Storm's been here,” she realizes suddenly in horror. She doesn't know how he managed – and this opens up a whole new world of horror for her – but he did and there could only be one reason why.

She starts digging furiously in the snow, warming her hands enough to melt it as she goes. It snows so hard on the chalet that she doesn't see anything, the cold wind hurting her eyes. She just keeps going until she touch the wood of the door. She pushes hard a few times until the door gives in and then she slides inside with the snow. The house is untouched, it's like Mr. Snowflake had just gone out for an errand. There's nothing out of place except the mug she gave to him, which is now lying on the floor in pieces. On the wall, Storm left a message for her written in ice: _I'll come for you_.

She sinks to the floor, her heart beating so fast that she's sure she's going to die here. It would be better, perhaps, than the alternative. Storm's got the others, which means he can do pretty much whatever he wants already. He could flood the world, freeze everything up and overthrow the balance. And she can't stop him, not alone. She's not strong enough – and even if, no warmth she can muster could contain such a climate catastrophe. It's over, she realizes somewhere between horror and shock. There is nothing she can do.

The world is doomed.


End file.
